Zhou Gao sat upright in his office, his posture dignified, fingers flying swiftly across the keyboard. From time to time, he adjusted his glasses with composed precision, then turned his gaze to the tablet beside him, eyes narrowing with a sharp focus that spoke of utter seriousness.
An employee approached his desk, placing a neat stack of documents before him with both hands, head slightly bowed in respect. Her gaze, however, flickered upward—unable to resist stealing a glance at the man before her.
That rigid yet graceful figure… so composed despite his modest height. Impeccably dressed, diligently working without pause. Ah—what elegance in such dignified compactness.
Being Secretary Zhou to President Shen Yizhou was no easy task. The man was infamously strict, obsessively punctual, and wholly married to his work. Yet somehow, Zhou Gao managed it with such quiet ease, never a hair out of place.
With a silent sigh of admiration and a heart quietly recharged, the girl turned to leave—feeling inexplicably motivated just by watching that man exist.
The moment the door clicked shut, Zhou Gao leaned back slightly and, with the calm of a man who had mastered the art of restraint, maximized a previously hidden tab on his tablet.
His expression froze.
Then, slowly, he dropped his head into his hands, lips pursing into a look of quiet, almost noble suffering. "Poor Sister Ling…" he muttered, voice low with helpless lament.
The image on the screen showed Ling Xiaoying seated alone in a luxurious private dining room, the table before her clearly set for a small gathering—yet not a single soul accompanied her.
And still, she smiled sweetly for the camera. Alone. Composed. Radiant in loneliness.
Tall, beautiful Sister Ling… so pitifully abandoned, yet pretending otherwise with such grace.
With a heavy sigh, Zhou Gao began typing a comment, his expression solemn.
[ShrimpKing88: Sister Ling, you don't need to wear fake smiles for us. Just give us names. Was it the future baby godfather? Or some other so-called friends? We'll make sure they regret it.]
A few commenters followed after.
[TaxEvasionButMakeItRomantic: Blink twice if you need help paying the bill, queen.]
[ShrimpKing88: Sister doesn't need money. Look at that watch. That alone is half my year's salary.]
[LonelyHotpot: Brother Shrimp, I try not to look at her hands. Jiejie ruins her own nails every time. Can't do them to save her life and refuses to go to a salon.]
[LingXiaoying'sUnpaidManager: Sis got ghosted but still living her best life—respect.]
[SniffingDog: Damn, Jiejie… did they ditch you, or did you eat them?? ]
[HeartbreakNoodle: You booked a room for a whole crew and got stood up?? LMAO.]
Zhou Gao stared at the screen with increasing dissatisfaction, a frown slowly tugging at the corners of his lips. These comments—these so-called fans.
Such a beautiful, tall woman like Ling Xiaoying, with such long legs, such poise, such grace… She ought to be admired, revered, treated like a national treasure! Not… memed.
He scoffed softly under his breath, adjusting his glasses with a single, sharp push.
It was outrageous. No, truly. An affront.
No, he told himself—this wasn't his old habit from his time managing top idols in the entertainment industry talking. Absolutely not. He was a man of calm logic and professional boundaries now.
…Well. Maybe it was a little bit of that habit.
But still.
He'd been observing it for a while now—Ling Xiaoying's comment section had evolved, subtly and steadily. Her followers no longer behaved like passive fans. Instead, they had transformed into a rowdy yet loyal crowd of "best friends," the kind who wouldn't hesitate to drag you through the mud while helping you wipe your tears with the same hand.
Less a fanbase, more a chaotic tea-spilling family.
And Zhou Gao… Zhou Gao did not approve.
Zhou Gao adjusted his glasses, lips pursed into a slight pout of discontent. Still, he said nothing. As outrageous as the comments were, these people were comrades—fellow admirers who, like him, appreciated the brilliance that was Ling Xiaoying. They were indignant on her behalf, as they should be. After all, she had been stood up. The injustice!
He was just about to type out a comment himself—perhaps something firm yet poetic—when a knock on the door interrupted his fanboy trance.
The CEO's assistant entered, expression polite yet urgent. "Secretary Zhou, the CEO is requesting your presence in his office."
Zhou Gao blinked, returning to the present with the swiftness of a trained professional. In a fluid motion, he closed the gossip tab and opened the CEO's daily schedule on his tablet. With that, he quickly made his way to the top floor, pausing briefly at the polished mahogany door before knocking lightly.
"President Shen, you called."
"Yes. Please, come in."
As he stepped inside, Zhou Gao's eyes instantly took in the scene: Shen Yizhou seated behind his desk, posture upright, expression unreadable. His gaze was fixed on the wall ahead, seemingly listening to someone on the phone.
What caught Zhou Gao's attention wasn't the call itself—but the silence.
The call had clearly been ongoing for a while, and yet President Shen hadn't said a single word.
That, in itself, said plenty.
First of all, this wasn't an important work call. Shen Yizhou never entertained idle chatter in the office—every call had a purpose, and he was always quick to cut to the point.
Second, it wasn't family either.
Mainly because... well, President Shen didn't really have a family. The only known relative was an eccentric uncle—an elusive, globe-trotting man who could disappear to the mountains of Bhutan one day and be surfing in Chile the next. He rarely responded to messages, even less often to calls. A man of mystery and spontaneous adventure, not idle conversation.
And then there was his grandmother.
That elusive elder was currently enjoying a so-called retirement cruise—one that, from the looks of it, had no end in sight. Like Shen Yizhou's uncle, she too appeared to have forsaken all concepts of regular social interaction. The only reason anyone knew of her whereabouts was likely thanks to her personal caretaker, who reported in on her behalf.
No, this call was undoubtedly from Ling Jialei.
The only person alive who could scold President Shen as she pleased and still live to tell the tale.
Zhou Gao had long been aware of the unique dynamic between the two. Ling Jialei had firmly established herself in Shen Yizhou's life as a self-declared guardian—more elder sister than colleague or friend. Perhaps it was because she had long set her sights on President Shen's uncle—that charming little man with his love for travel, mischief, and freedom. Somewhere along the way, Zhou Gao suspected, she had decided to gate keep the role of a potential aunt to the nephew as well.
And now that her younger brother, Ling Xiaoyu, had recently come to stay at President Shen's home, it was obvious who the prolonged phone call was about.
Zhou Gao sighed internally, heart softening.
Ling Xiaoyu…
Just thinking about him made Zhou Gao's chest ache. He had been a devoted fan for years. That boy—that boy—had the perfect face, the perfect legs, the perfect voice. A national treasure disguised as an idol.
Ever since word got around that Ling Xiaoyu had fallen ill, Zhou Gao had been quietly worried. He assumed the boy had come to stay for treatment—surely someone like Shen Yizhou could arrange for the best.
And yet, as much as he yearned to see him again, he couldn't exactly march up to his boss and say, "President Shen, may I visit your house to bask in the presence of the idol I once dedicated my late twenties to?"
No. Absolutely not. He had his dignity. His pride.
So, when he'd stumbled upon Ling Xiaoying, a girl who looked uncannily like Ling Xiaoyu… he had, perhaps, momentarily strayed.
A temporary shift in loyalty, born of desperation.
But that didn't mean he'd forgotten. No true fan ever truly did.
"Jiejie… No… No, I have not been feeding him woke agendas… No, I have not been hypnotizing him against family values. He said that on his own. Perhaps…"
Shen Yizhou paused, exhaling slowly, and with an expression devoid of emotion, he opened his AI chat interface. While still on the phone with Ling Jialei, his fingers flew across the keyboard with practiced efficiency:
'What do I say in a situation where she thinks her brother has found a new sibling and ditched her? Please suggest something believable and in favor of the brother.'
A few moments later, the AI provided a response. Shen Yizhou read it, then repeated the words aloud with his usual calm, composed tone—serious, as though delivering a report on quarterly earnings.
"…Perhaps it's because he has reasons of his own. Maybe he feels lonely, being apart from you for the first time in such a long while, and misses you… but is too proud and too shy to say it out loud, so he's using such a method to get your attention."
A long pause followed.
The faint noises Zhou Gao had heard from the phone when he first entered—the distant rustle, the occasional sharp inhale—had now completely vanished.
Then, a brief reply. And the call ended soon after.
Zhou Gao blinked, thinking internally to himself, 'She bought it.'
Shen Yizhou set the phone aside, then glanced up at Zhou Gao. "Can the afternoon meeting be moved forward by an hour?"
Zhou Gao, caught slightly off guard, blinked before pulling up the schedule on his tablet.
President Shen rarely, if ever, altered his fixed routine. As such, Zhou Gao was unused to making sudden adjustments—and this momentary delay in response cost him.
After checking the logistics, he replied carefully, "Sir, the earliest it can be brought forward is by thirty minutes. Any earlier would require a full reschedule for a later date."
"Show me," Shen Yizhou said simply.
Zhou Gao's heart cracked ever so slightly.
Was this the price for a mere few seconds of hesitation? That the President no longer believed in his impeccable efficiency?
How… saddening.
There was no trust left in this world.
Handing the tablet over, Zhou Gao watched as President Shen took it with his usual poised composure, scanning through the schedule with a sharp eye.
He paused. "And who among the attendees is so inflexible that the schedule cannot be altered?"
Zhou Gao leaned in, intending to switch tabs and display the relevant contact list. Unfortunately, instead of the proper work interface, he accidentally tapped into his star-chasing folder—specifically the tab still open on Ling Xiaoying's latest post, surrounded by the usual fan commotion.
Panic shot through him like lightning.
In a desperate scramble to close it, he fumbled, fingers smacking wildly at the screen. The tablet wobbled precariously in President Shen's hand, who calmly steadied it with one hand.
"Zhou Gao," President Shen said, voice cool and flat.
"Yes, Sir?" he replied, already standing ramrod straight, sweat forming at the back of his neck.
"I already saw it."
"…Understood, Sir."
Still, Zhou Gao opened the correct tab and presented it as if nothing had happened, his face fixed in a flawless professional smile—internally, however, he was wailing like a man at his own funeral.
Never mix work with pleasure.
A core principle. One he solemnly re-engraved onto his heart that very moment.
"Apologies, Sir."
The rest of the process went by without further incident. Though, much to Zhou Gao's astonishment, President Shen did what had previously seemed impossible—he managed to bring the meeting forward by a full hour and a half, dragging the others out from their corners of the city with nothing short of executive-level intimidation.
Originally, President Shen had planned to use this newly freed-up time to speak directly with Ling Xiaoyu. Just a simple conversation—gently persuading him to consider his overprotective sister's delicate feelings before blurting things out in public again. After all, he was the one constantly being caught in the aftermath.
But now…
Now that he had accidentally glimpsed the page Zhou Gao had been on—and seen the image and a few of the comments before the man had nearly shattered the tablet trying to close it—President Shen recognized the account.
It was, of course, Ling Xiaoyu's.
And judging from the tone of the comments, the boy had clearly suffered quite the emotional blow.
President Shen sat quietly for a moment, fingers still on the screen, lost in thought.
Could it be… Shen Yizhou was the bad luck?
Ever since Ling Xiaoyu arrived, things had spiralled. First, he had been booked for the role of a spouse by a boy with no clear loyalties. Then, Ling Jialei had yelled at him because of a careless headline. And now—this.
Could it be that the AI had been right all along?
Was Ling Xiaoyu… actually lonely? Is that why he was doing all this?
President Shen frowned slightly, gaze dropping toward the tablet again as a peculiar emotion passed through his usually unshakeable heart.
He leaned back in his chair, quietly contemplating.